Amnesia
by LynnettaCaine
Summary: Germany doesn't remember much about being a kid. Italy tries not to remember for as long as possible, until Austria sends him paintings that the Holy Roman Empire painted- all of them. One painting is missing. One painting will reveal Germany's past. -Rating changed just in case this turns inappropriate, which it may very soon.-
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Memories

Feliciano is cooking breakfast. He insists on it every time he stays the night. "So, Ludwig, how did you sleep? You drank so much beer last night I thought you were going to explode! Silly Germans and their beer," he says from the stove.

"I could say the same about Italians and their pasta. You're even cooking it for breakfast!" I note, looking into the pot he's just finished stirring. He takes a large bite and smiles widely. "Anyway, beer is delicious. As is wurst. You really should learn how to make wurst, Italy."

He gasps. "But, the pasta! If we eat wurst, we can't eat the delizioso pasta!" I shake my head. There is no use arguing with the likes of him. The doorbell rings, and I open the door to find a package wrapped in neat blue paper, tied with a thin white string. A card on top said : _"Italy- I found these paintings from your time in my home. I think you may enjoy them. Only one is missing from the collection; Holy Roman Empire took it with him when he left. Have a wonderful day. Signed, Austria."_ I bend down to retrieve the package and carry it in to the dining room table.

"Freund, you have a package from Austria. I didn't know you lived in his house." Feliciano's usually animated behavior falters but he picks it right back up. I wonder what happened?

"Why, yes. I did live in his house for a very long time. It was terrible! He didn't have any pasta!" the Italian says, opening the box and pulling out painting of an oddly familiar looking little girl in a white dress, sweeping the floors.

"Who is that?" I mumble, indicating to the child in the picture. He laughs.

"Me, silly! See?" He indicates to his hair-sprig and the child's matching one. I clear my throat awkwardly.

"And why exactly are you dressed like a girl?" I swear I've seen that dress before…

"Oh, Miss Hungary liked to dress me up in her clothes. For a long time, Holy Roman Empire thought I was a girl! Isn't that funny?" I hear a strain of sadness in his voice.

"What is wrong, Feli?" He gives me a weak smile and ruffles up my hair.

"Oh, nothing. Don't worry Ludwi-" He stops short, staring at me. Quickly I slick my hair back again.

"Sorry, I need a haircut," I murmur.

"It's not that, Ludwig. It's just that, with your hair down, you look like someone else. Would you mind letting me inspect these paintings alone? I'm afraid that if I talk, look at them, and eat pasta at the same time, something will go horribly wrong. You know I can't multitask!" He falsely grins at me. I know something's wrong.

"Well, I need to go work out. Auf Wiedersehen." I mumble, heading out the door, looking into his wide brown eyes as I leave. I just wish I could tell him how much I wish he would come over more often, how much I wish that we were more than friends.

...

With Ludwig gone, I can cry. I miss my friend Holy Rome. Why did he die? He was my first kiss! I have repressed so many of these memories that not even a good bowl of Alfredo can make me feel good now that I remember them again. Sometimes though, especially when I'm around Germany, I remember. The way he brings me food, the way he looks at me, the way he acts around me, is so like Acacias. I remember when I last saw Acacias. He was so sick like Grandpa Rome. He then fell into a coma and eventually he died. Now, the only thing I have to remember him by are these paintings, all of me. Me sweeping, me eating, me listening to Austria play piano. One is missing, the note said. So where is it?


	2. Chapter 2

*If there is any confusion, I'll be using the name Acacias for HRE, as he doesn't have a human name yet*

Chapter Two: Parting

Feliciano is crying. I wish that leaving him here would be easier, but my big brothers are pulling me out of Austria's house. "Please don't leave?" he whimpers.

"I have to. I want to make the biggest, most powerful country in the world!" He sniffles and wipes his eyes. "You can still come with me, Italy." I grab his arm. "Please come with me?" He pulls away.

"I don't want you to become like Grandpa Rome. He was so scarred, Acacias. I don't want the same thing to happen to you. I care about you too much." Italy's tears still haven't subsided. I put down the painting I'm taking with me and wipe them away, pulling him into a soft kiss. His lips are warm, and his tears mix with mine. I pull back and pull the pin off of my hat. I pin it onto his dress and turn to my brothers. They are waiting impatiently by the gate.

"Something to remember me by. Please don't be sad, Feli. I will be okay. Someday, when we are grown up, I will invite you to join me, and then we can live happily ever after." Italy rubs the tears away again.

"Do you mean it?"

I smile at him. "No matter how many years that pass, I'll love you most of anyone in this world."

With that, I turn away. I still have no idea why he wore that dress when I knew he was a boy all along.

...

I lay on the bed, my body aching. Italy was right. I was going to get sick, like Grandpa Rome. I only wish I could see Feliciano one last time before I die. My doctor comes into the room and observes the monitor next to me.

"I'm sorry, Holy Roman Empire, but your vitals are incredibly low. If you don't die now, I'm afraid you may fall into a coma." Like an omen, I cough hard into my elbow, specks of blood now dotting the pale skin. The doctor wipes it off for me, a slight frown on his face. "I do have good news. There's someone at the door for you." The door opens and in walks a familiar brown ahoge. Italy has grown older, and has ditched the dress for a suit. His hair has stayed the same. His face now isn't just cute, it's incredibly attractive. He looks somewhat sullen, seeing me in this sorry state.

"Ciao, Holy Rome. How are you feeling?" He asks, coming farther into the room to sit on the foot of my bed. I smile best I could.

"Better now that you're here. Made any good pasta lately?" He nods.

"It's hard to make pasta when I'm thinking about you lying in here, though." He frowns and looks down at his hands, playing with the silky black bedspread. "Why haven't you been sending me as many letters?"

I indicate to the IV in my arm. "It's hard to write like this, mi amore. I'm sorry."

He moves his hand closer to mine so the warmth of his fingers radiates into my ice-cold ones. He raises a hand to wipe my cheek. I hadn't realized that I was crying.

"I made something for you, Acacias." He reaches into his pockets and pulls out a small, golden pin, identical to the one I had given him, and pins it onto my nightgown. "Now we have the same one." He indicates to the one on his jacket lapel. He intertwines his fingers with mine.

"Thank you. Thank you so much, Feliciano." He smiles.

"Anything for you." I smile, but I feel a terrible pain gripping my body. I hear the monitor next to me silence it's beeping. I no longer feel my heart pounding in my chest. I start panicking.

"Feliciano, remember that I lo-" I start, but I find I can't speak. I try to grasp his hands, but I simply can't move my fingers anymore. He's crying, yelling for the doctor. The doctor pulls out electrical paddles out of the case on the floor, rubs them together and presses them against my chest. I feel my body jump and my heart start to pump feebly, but I close my eyes, only to find I can't get them open again. All I hear is my heart's tiny _thump-thump_. I hear the doctor barely say that I am dead. I try to scream that I'm not. I try to scream that I'm still here, still alive, but I can't. Feliciano is sobbing. Noises fade away now, and I fall asleep.

...

I stride into Acacias' house. "Why isn't he having a funeral?" I demand loudly.

His doctor whirls around. He looks nervous, even though he could easily beat me in a fight. He clears his throat. "Well, erm, it would appear that I may have been wrong."

I can feel my anger rolling off of me. I was going to make this guy pasta for taking care of Holy Roman Empire for so long, but now I'm furious. No pasta for you, asshole! "What do you mean?" I demand.

"His body is gone." My jaw dropped. "When the coroners came to take the body, it was gone. Either he magically came back to life, or someone stole his body. The second is more likely. He did have a lot of enemies."

"His…body…gone?" I whispered, running my hands through my hair. "Gone…" My heart is cracking. It's aching. It's bad enough for him to die, but someone has the gall to take him.

"They took something else, Italy." My head whips up. "They took his painting, the painting of you."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Beginning

I look at myself in the mirror, observing my blonde hair and blue eyes. Where did I come from? Who am I related to? I don't remember any of my childhood. I don't remember friends, parents, anything.

The first thing I can remember is waking up in a soft bed, Germania hovering over me. "You finally woke up! I found you wondering the woods. I see potential in you, and I want to raise you as my own. You will be a strong country one day." He smiled.

"Who am I?" I asked him.

"That doesn't matter now. Your name will be Germany. You will be great."

I loved my Grandpa Germania, but I always felt like there was something he wasn't telling me. I wish I could have asked him more about my past before he died. I hear a knock at the bathroom door. "May I come in, Germany?" Feliciano's voice says from behind the door.

"Yes, yes, come in." I compose myself and put the gel onto my hand. I just showered and have not yet done my hair, and am only in a towel.

Feliciano opens the door, and immediately trips on the edge of the carpet, sending us to the ground. He lands on top of me, his lips accidentally grazing mine. I feel a spark of a memory. I've kissed those lips before. If I really had, I would recall it. I've been in love with Italy for as long as I can remember, so why can't I remember if I have kissed him?

"I'm so sorry, Germany! Please don't hurt me! I didn't mean to!" Italy frantically says, backing up from me. I pull him into my arms and kiss him again.

…

Germany is kissing me. When did he start liking me? I've liked him since World War I, at least. He fed me when I was his prisoner and he really did treat me well. I never knew those feelings were reciprocated. I never knew he was gay. I also never knew his lips were identical to Holy Rome's.

I pull away. "I love you."

"No matter how many years that pass, I'll love you most of anyone in this world." Germany replies. I choke at the familiar phrase.

"What did you say?"

Germany's face screws up in confusion and concern. "I just mean that since I met you many years ago I have loved you, and I will love you for many more years." I nod, trying not to cry. He hugs me tightly. "I had no idea how you felt. I always thought that there was no use in telling you."

"I felt the same." I say, snuggling him. "Do you want some pasta?"

He smiles. "Sounds wunderbar." I disappear into the kitchen to begin on the pasta. I have suspicions about my Germany, but I question if they were really true. It did make sense though. Acacias' death did coincide with Ludwig's arrival onto the panel of countries. I wonder. I really do.

…

After my hair is done, I go out to see if Feli has finished the pasta. He has, but he isn't eating. He's reading letters. The one next to him read: _Dear Feliciano, I'm sorry I haven't written you in so long. The illness is getting worse. All of my family members are fighting and the stress is building. I'm afraid I won't be around much longer. I wish you could come see me, but I don't want you to see me like this. I'm sorry, my dear Italy. Take care. Make pasta. Ciao. Love, Acacias._

Italy looks up. "Oh, hello Ludwig." He puts the letters into a box and puts them next to the couch. It's one of the first boxes he brought when he started moving in. "The pasta is ready, but the pantry is incredibly low. Would you mind writing a grocery list? Your handwriting is so much neater." He smiles at me and begins eating the pasta. I tend to disagree with him on that, but I shrug and start writing. He takes the list when I'm done, and observes it. "Thanks!" he says cheerfully, but it sounds off, like something is wrong. I figure he'll tell me when he wants to. I won't push it.

…

I look at the list Ludwig wrote. His handwriting matches Acacias'. A little messier, but that doesn't exactly shock me. The style of the _t'_s, the _i'_s_, _everything matched up. I know what's going on, but does he? How does he not know? How can he look in the mirror in the morning and not see the same face I see every morning when I look at the picture on my bedside table? God… How had I not realized this before? I pick at the pasta. I wish I could eat it. It looks so delicious.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Cleaning Day

I look at the dusty, cluttered attic in front of me and sigh, resolving to get everything sorted by dinner time, when Feliciano is supposed to get back from a day of shopping. I have no idea what my Italian might need but pasta, so why he will be gone all day, I do not know.

I'm dressed in an outfit not unlike one I have worn many times before: a black tank top and cargo pants. These are my working clothes. I stride over to the window, open the blinds, and crack the window. It's musty up here. It smells of lost memories, and it makes me sad. I'm partially happy Italy isn't here to see me all nostalgic like this.

I walk over to the first crate, the one with the label 'tomatoes'. Remembering how Italy jumped out of it, how hilariously desperate he was, I smile. I open the crate to be hit by the smells of the war. Gunpowder, grease, dust. The pungent aromas send me back to a time I didn't want to go back to. Memories wizz around me like stray bullets, and I try to dodge them all. I can reminisce later. For now, I need to work.

I sort the items (broken guns, tattered uniforms, letters from my Mutter) into two piles, trash and keep. It seems that for every one item I need to keep, six items I need to get rid of. Memories are too painful for me. I never had them before I met Germania , and everything until Feliciano was pain. I shake my head, slicked hair not moving an inch. I move the now empty crate aside and put the things I'm keeping into it. I can't get rid of this crate. It signifies a new era of good memories for me.

I turn back to clear the rest of the dusty corner. To my surprise, there was only a canvas covered by a sheet. Grandpa Germania must have forgotten about it in his will. I suppose, because he left me the house, it is mine. I pull the sheet off to look at the back of the canvas. Scrawled in handwriting much like mine: 'Me and Italia, a painting based on a photograph' My arched brow raised. Why do I have a painting of Feli in my attic? I turn the painting around and promptly fall on my ass in surprise.

I'm looking at myself, albeit much younger, hugging Feliciano. Feli's hair is longer in the painting, his hair curl much more defined, but it is definitely him, and the blonde on the left is definitely me. He has the same distinctive yellow hair, the same blue eyes with the distinctive darker blue edges, the same lips, the same dark eyebrows. My mind recalls Austria's note. '_Only one is missing from the collection; Holy Roman Empire took it with him when he left._'

Holy Rome. What do I know about the Holy Roman Empire? Well, his name was Acacias. He died when Germania found me. Well, everyone thinks he died. I heard a rumor that he really disappeared, taking the final painting from beside his bed.

Could I be Holy Rome? Acacias? The man Feliciano loved before me?

…

"Brother France?" I call into the dimly lit office.

"Oi, Italy?" the Frenchman responds, indicating for me to enter. He's leaning as far back as his office chair will allow, resting his heels lazily on the polished cherry wood of his desk. His purple jacket shows clearly through the haze of the room, which smells like expensive cologne and fancy cigarette smoke.

"You've been around nearly as long as Brother Spain, right?" He rears back his head, laughing.

"Not that it shows, eh, mon ami?" I nod curtly, and he frowns at my unamused expression. "Not just a friendly visit, is it brother?" he says, placing his legs under his desk and leaning across it to squint at me. "You need a whore for something? You know I have the best." He indicates to his wall of renowned prostitutes, all high class, and not all women.

"I have Ludwig. You know that." He shrugs with an expression that reads 'And?'. "I need you to tell me about the rumors you've heard about Holy Rome." His eyebrow lifts with a corner of his mouth.

"You know you have to pay me, Feliciano."

I sigh and pull out a freshly baked baguette out of my messenger bag and lay it on the desk.

"Better." He resumes his relaxed position. "Well, as you know, I hear everything, frère. And I have heard much about your dear Acacias, and of Ludwig, and most of it involved them being one in the same. The same luscious blonde hair, the same beautiful blue eyes, the same creamy skin, the same co-"

Canada, France's quiet secretary, pushes open the door. "S-sir, we have potential... erm… worker. She's very adamant about meeting with you." France winks at me and waves a hand towards the door. I stand, give both men a nod. Canada looks a bit frail. After I figure this whole mess out, I'll make him some pasta.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Time to Talk

All I can see is darkness, but I am not afraid anymore. I can feel freedom from the great pain, a happy end to the flaming anguishes in my body. However, in the distance, I still hear my dear Feliciano crying. I cannot see and I cannot move, but my hearing is intact, and it is strong. My Italy is close to me, one hand stroking my cheek with warm, elegant fingers, the other clutching my hand tightly. His sobs pierce the stillness I sense in my home, breaking me out of my peaceful state, breaking my heart with each moan.

"Wake up," he whimpers, "please. You can't be dead." I again open my mouth to assure him I'm not, but, alas, I cannot speak. I hear my doctor rolling off his rubber gloves and washing his hands with the basin in the corner.

"I'm very sorry for your loss." The doctor left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

"I love you so much," Feli whispers, and then I can hear nothing. My brain shuts down all of its processes, leaving me in a foggy, dreamless unconsciousness.

When I awake, I'm vaguely aware of the events that occurred yesterday. I still feel feverish and shaky, but I know what I have to do. I will let my Italy mourn me, and I will disappear. He can find someone better than me, stronger than me, healthier than me, and I will observe his life from afar, as I always had.

I wiggle my toes to test that I can actually move. I can. I slowly rise out of my bed and retrieve the suitcase I had taken from Austria's home. I pack methodically, assuring I have both warm and cold weather clothing, depending on where I may end up, and I change from the comfortable silk-like pajamas I wore during my illness, replacing them with my sturdy military uniform.

As I climb out of my window, I thank my lucky stars that I made my bedroom on the first floor. I head out towards the woods, going as swiftly as possible, suitcase slightly weighing me down. I enter the woods, slowing down slightly, trying to traverse my way through the branches by the bright moonlight. And, suddenly, the moonlight is gone.

I hear small raindrops pattering on the leaves that surround me like a maze, and then bright flash of lightning. Thunder crackles menacingly. I start going faster, as fast as my atrophied legs could carry me, using the lightning like lamps. I feel a sharp pain across my shins and then I'm falling. I fall onto my face, tiny thorns and leaves cutting my face and my palms, making them sting. I push myself up, refusing to stop going. I couldn't live knowing Feliciano had to go through the pain of me dying, only to still be alive, and still be chronically ill.

The thunder and the raindrops have been growing progressively stronger. The lightning flashes brighter. I see a sunlight-bright lightning strike, and a piercing crack emanates from a tree close to me. I'm suddenly aware that something is wrong, but then I am aware of nothing, only pain.

…

I wake up with a gasp, cold sweat covering my face. I'm no longer in the forest, though; I must have fallen asleep on my couch, the painting leaning on the wall so I can stare at it. I've had this dream many times before, and only now do I know that it's not a dream. I must tell Italy when he gets home. First, I ensure my hair isn't dented. Feli throws a fit when my hair gets messed up. Secondly, I down a beer. Or four. As soon as I'm finished cleaning the mugs and thoroughly brushing my teeth, I hear the door fling open.

My Italy has arrived.

…

I place my bags on the kitchen table. I hope Germany likes the bratwursts I bought at the deli. I re-stock the fridge, assuring that everything is in its place, not that Germany cares, but I do. I sudden hug from behind frightens me, and I jump up with a yip. I hate when Germany does this. He knows how easily scared I am.

His warm, slightly chapped lips meet my earlobe. "We need to talk, mein liebe."

My heart drops, fearing for the worst. He turns me around to look at him, but, seeing as I'm much shorter, line of sight only reaches his chin. I crane my neck to look into his lovely blue eyes. He presses his forehead to mine. "I found the painting. It was in the attic, Feli. And then I had a nightmare, but it wasn't simply a nightmare. It was a memory. Italy… I am Acacias. I'm the Holy Roman Empire."

I wrap my arms tightly around him, savoring the warmth of his body, my tears of joy flowing freely onto his shirt. I found him, and he had been here the whole time.

…

I clutch Feliciano close to me, stroking his soft brown hair with my wide hands. I wish he wouldn't cry so; I don't understand happy tears. I use a finger to wipe them away. "Please don't cry, Feli." I kiss him softly, and he responds with a demanding, very passionate, heart pounding kiss. I pull away, surprised. Italy usually lets me lead.

"I've wanted to kiss you like that for so long, Acacias." He strokes my cheek, paying particular attention the cut of my jaw and the curve of my cheekbones. I smile, kiss his nose, his forehead, and his cheeks. Someday I hope to kiss all of Feliciano Vargas. I look into his brown eyes and they meet mine. He seems to have the same idea that I do. A deep red blush covers my cheeks. I always feel embarrassed in moments such as these.

He presses those fingers I love to the heat on my cheeks. "Don't blush. It's not sexy." I swallow hard.

"Sexy? Am I normally sexy?"

"Absolutely." I smile at the ground, trying to work up courage, something I don't usually have to do.

"Shall we announce my true identity and the confirmation of our union at the World Council tomorrow?" I ask slowly, choosing my words with much thought. Italy looks at me, thinking it through carefully, and, finally, nods.


End file.
